


Just Another Ghost Story

by InTheShadows



Series: WinterIron Week 2020 Fills [4]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (off screen and implied so don't let it scare you too much), Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Bucky Barnes & Tony Stark Friendship, Don't copy to another site, Fairy Tale Elements, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Ghost Bucky Barnes, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, STB Bingo 2020, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, WinterIron Week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:35:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28197012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InTheShadows/pseuds/InTheShadows
Summary: Everyone knows the legend of the Winter Ghost, a creature of the old magic that still lingers, just out of view, in the world. Everyone knows that to see him is to see death itself, for none survive the encounters. Everyone knows not to enter the forest.Too bad some people are never very good at following the rules. Tony is one of them. It's fine, he's always out by dark. He's never run into any problems. Besides, if he didn't go into the forest, he never would have met James. James is worth the supposed risk.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Tony Stark
Series: WinterIron Week 2020 Fills [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2066133
Comments: 9
Kudos: 79
Collections: STB Bingo: Round One, WinterIron Week





	Just Another Ghost Story

**Author's Note:**

> For WinterIron Week, Day 2, "He’s a ghost story”  
> For STB Bingo, G1 AU: Ghosts  
> (Yes. Yes I did decide to take the prompt literally. Hopefully I did this genre justice because I've never written a ghost story before. Although I did reread my copy of Roald Dahl's Book of Ghost Stories to try to get the vibe right. If anyone likes ghost stories I definitely recommend this book. It has some good stories in it.)

Everyone knows the legend of the Winter Ghost. How he stalks the land, looking for prey. How he forms out of fog and mist and the shadows. How the forest is his domain, lingering where the oldest of magic still lurks, hidden and protected by its branches. Woe to the travelers that venture in after dark, for surely they will be devoured. Woe to the unsuspecting who walk by day, for surely they will be entangled. 

The Winter Ghost is a beast, ever hungry, ever prowling its grounds. Vicious and merciless just like the season it is named after. None have seen it, for none see the Winter Ghost and live to tell the tale. To see it is to see death itself.

None can agree on from whence it came. Some say it was once a man, good and strong before dark magic twisted him beyond recognition. Some say he was a witch himself, tempted by greed and darkness, who made a pact with the devil. Others insist it was a curse. Still there are those that insist it was never a man at all, only a beast of nightmares, created to terrorize the land. 

Whatever the truth, it has been lost long ago. The tale has been passed on from generation to generation, all with the same warnings. All with the same message - don’t go out after dark. Don’t stray far from the light. Don’t go into the forest. Tony, of course, grew up with the stories along with everyone else in the village. The Winter Ghost was the monster under the bed, the being children used to scare each other, the one adults used to threaten. ‘If you aren’t good then the Winter Ghost will drag you from your bedroom, take you to his lair and devour you.’ He had heard that more than once himself - particularly when he had reached the threshold of everyone’s tolerance for mischief. 

Funny how that never happened yet. That is not to say that he doesn’t believe in the ghost. He does - mostly. He knows it is possible. Knows that old magic still linger in the land, no matter how much the Church - and Howard for that matter - may deny it. Not to say that Howard is a religious man. He isn’t. He may pay lip service to it like the rest of the village, but he places as much faith in it as the old legends. A man of this world only, you could say. 

His mother, on the other hand, is another story. She still believes, following the old rites of the land. Passing her teachings onto her son. Neither the Church nor Howard has been able to convince her otherwise. They never will. Maria believes in the Old Ways and nothing and no one is going to stop her. 

Thus Tony grows up with two very different messages being pounded into his head. One of the new faith and one as old as the land itself. It makes for some - interesting - beliefs some days.

One belief the Church will never be able to touch, though, is the Winter Ghost. Not this close to the forest. Not with the belief - no, the _knowledge_ \- of its existence as such an essential part of life here. They can try to call it a demon, a devil, make it a faceless and common evil, but people know better. There is nothing faceless about it. Even the most devout will never disavow it. They know. Everyone knows. 

That doesn’t mean everyone always listens though. The forest may be off limits by tradition and superstition, but there are still those who will venture in. Mostly the most desperate or those who have nothing to lose. Those who no longer care. 

Tony is one of those people. He is a restless soul, as his mother calls it. Restless soul and wandering feet. Tony can never stay where he is supposed to. Always moving, always fidgeting, always curious. He has yet to learn to leave well enough alone. A natural trouble maker, even when he never means to be. He just can’t help himself. 

It drives his mother to distraction and worry. It drives Howard to rage. Yet another reason to run. Howard in a rage is nothing to mess with. Nor is a Howard in his cups. The two often go together and the two are a common sight since Howard is _always_ in his cups. Better to avoid him altogether than endure. That never goes well for Tony. 

So he turns to the forest. He hides and plays and runs wild there. The other villagers may whisper, may speculate and gossip, but he doesn’t care. It is a way to escape. A way to be free, if only for a little while. For Tony is always back by dark. He remembers the stories. The lessons. He will not become one of them. He never enters the forest after dark. 

As he grows older he learns how to trap and to hunt. He brings meat home to the table, provides for his family - and sometimes others in the village, when it is needed or he is overly successful. It is the wise thing to do. To deny them is to bring envy and scorn and jealousy. It invites trouble to your door. Sharing means that the whispers are not so numerous - or they are more understanding at least. Tony may be reckless and foolish, but at least he is being useful. 

Not that Tony especially cares what they think, but it makes things easier for his mother. She has a hard enough time as is. He tries not to add to her burdens, although that does not always work. 

It is somewhat of a lonely life, with no friends and only his mother to care for him, but Tony doesn’t mind. Not much. Being in the village stifles him. Sometimes it feels as if it is trying to choke the life out of him. Make him mindless and dull and boring. His skin itches when he stays in its confines for too long. The forest is the only place where he feels safe. Free. There is a certain irony to that that Tony has always found funny. 

Never before has Tony seen anyone besides himself. Not until one day in the summer of his sixteenth year. There is a rustling in the bushes and he turns, expecting to see an animal. Instead he sees a boy. It is enough to make him drop his bow in surprise. It points aimlessly at the ground. 

“Hello,” the boy greets. 

He looks to be about Tony’s age, with his hair pulled back and no visible weapons on him. His clothes are rough and patched, yet still serviceable. He has clear gray eyes that seem to welcome Tony along with the smile on his lips. 

“Hello,” Tony says more out of reflex than good manners. Who is this boy? Certainly no one from the village because Tony would recognize him then. They are a small community after all. And there is not another settlement close by. The nearest one is at least five days' travel on foot, if one is lucky. Could he be all the way from there?

“Are you hunting?” he asks if that is not plainly obvious. 

Tony nods, still struck mostly speechless. 

“Follow me,” he motions, “I can show you the best spot.” He moves soundlessly back into the tree cover. 

Did he make that noise just so Tony would know he was coming? He must have because the experience does not repeat itself. He stays completely silent. 

Soon enough they come across a stream that Tony has never found before. Perfect. The boy nods and they get into position to wait. It does not take long for a buck to approach to drink. Tony lets loose his arrow with long practiced skill. A direct hit. 

He turns and fires at the boy. The boy grins back. Together they emerge and skin the deer. It takes even less time with help. 

“Would you like some?” Tony asks. It is only fair. Without him Tony never would have found this spot. He has a right of claim here too. 

But he shakes his head. “I have enough meat. You keep it.” 

Tony stares at him. “Do you _live_ here? In the forest?” he blurts out. It is the only thing that makes sense to him. The clothes, the way he moves, his knowledge of this place. It all fits. Tony never knew this stream existed, yet he found it with ease. Tony has been coming into the forest for years, yet he has never moved as silently and gracefully as this boy does. Like he belongs here. 

After hesitating a moment, he nods. “Yes.” 

Questions burn on his tongue, but it is clear that the boy is wary enough just from that one. If he comes from a place where superstitions are just as strong as Tony’s own village - and he must - then he has enough reason to be. Tony can wait - mostly. 

Instead he holds out his hand. “Tony.” 

Another hesitation and then “James.” He shakes Tony’s hand. His skin is still cool from when they washed their hands in the stream. 

Tony does not see James every time he enters the forest after that, but he is there often enough. It is always he that finds Tony and not the other way around. No matter how hard he tries, Tony can never seem to manage. He’s gotten close, he knows he has, but James always beats him to it at those times with a smirk. 

They become friends over that time - each other’s only companion’s. It is something Tony treasures for he has never had a friend before. Never had someone he could trust or rely on. Never had someone he could be himself around without judgement. There is no one else Tony trusts more. The only other person who comes close is his mother, but that still isn’t the same as James. 

They bond as only two lonely boys can. 

All this time James remains somewhat of a mystery. He doesn’t talk about his past or where he is from or why he lives here. From the hints he has given, there is some great and terrible tragedy that has led him to flee here. He gets a haunted look in his eyes every time he thinks about it. A far away look as if he is experiencing it all over again. 

Tony has learned not to ask. 

That doesn’t mean he values this friendship any less. That doesn’t make it any less real. Who cares if Tony doesn’t know about James' past? He knows about his present. And he is always there when Tony needs him. That is what counts. 

One of the few things he _has_ asked - and gotten an answer for - “How do you stay safe here alone?” It is a bright day and they are laying in a patch of sunlight, side by side. 

James shrugs. “You learn the ways of the animals. They won’t bother you if you don’t bother them. And those that do see you as prey,” a hard look enters his eyes, “you learn not to be.” Then he blinks and the look is gone as if it was never there to begin with. 

“But what about everything else?” Tony continues, because while interesting, wasn’t what he had been asking about. 

“What?” James frowns at him, brows furrowed. 

“Magic,” he says as if it should be obvious - and it should be. “All everyone can talk about is the old magic that still lingers here - and the Winter Ghost! That’s _really_ what they are always talking about. You can’t even mention the forest without it being brought up. Have you ever seen it?” For if anyone has ever seen it and lived, it would be James. 

Another kind of terrible look enters his eyes. “No.” It sounds like a lie. 

Here Tony can’t resist pushing, too curious to stop. “You _have_ , haven't you? Is it as horrible as everyone says it is? Is it really a monster or -” 

“ _No_.” This time there is a growl in James’ answer. 

“But -” he tries again because he still has yet to learn when to stop. Not really. 

“ _Drop. It._ ” For a moment James’ eyes almost seem to gleam. 

Tony holds up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry.” His heart is beating rapidly, as if he had just been running for his life. He tells it not to be stupid. This is just James. He manages to stay silent for a few more moments before, “What about magic though? Does it really exist here? Have you ever seen any?” 

James sighs soundlessly. “What you can’t kill, you learn to avoid. What you can’t avoid you learn to make yourself too insignificant to bother with you.” 

Tony takes that as a yes. He has a hard time imagining James ever being insignificant, but that might be his own mind talking. How can James not be important, when he means so much to Tony? He moves on though, finally. He can push some other time. For now it is best to leave it alone. The last thing he wants to do is push James away. Where would he be without him? 

Lost, as embarrassing and needy as that makes him sound. 

Then - when Tony is nineteen - the sickness hits. It strikes just as the first thaw brings spring to the land. It comes with vengeance and without mercy. It sweeps through the village, taking first the elderly and the youngest before moving onto the healthy. 

It is a fever that brings delusions and delirium. It burns through its victims bodies until there is nothing left. There is no cure, no way to slow it. Within a week of contracting it, the person is dead. 

Fear, panic and suspicion sweep through the village along with the fever. There is no logic to it, no sense and no reasoning. Fear is now the ruler of them all. 

Tony spends most of his days in the forest, as ever, but now there is a new urgency to it. A new sense of purpose. Now, more than ever, his skills are needed. As more and more people fall sick, there are less people to provide for their tables. The survivors work the fields with desperate fury. Tony brings back as much meat as possible every day. 

It’s not enough. 

Spring may have come, but it is a cold spring with no heat to it. It no longer frosts, but that is the extent of it. The land remains in this in between state, filled with mud and chill. Even the animals are not emerging from the dens and hideaways as they should. It is as if, they too, can sense the danger. Hunger tugs at them all. 

James is a silent support through it all. He comes to find Tony as soon as he enters now. Together they set off on an unspoken mission for food. Tony knows he wouldn’t have caught half of what he does without James by his side. 

“I don’t know how much longer this can go on,” he confesses in a moment of weakness one day. How much longer _he_ can go on. Exhaustion pulls at his very bones now. Everyone is counting on him. What was once a reckless decision is now depended on as a blessing. It’s not enough, though, He knows that. What happens if he fails entirely? What happens when this sickness takes the entire village and him with it?

That is a fear he does not have the courage to voice. The thought stalks him, though, as readily as the fever stalks everyone. 

James, as is his way, stays silent. Instead he offers quiet support, laying a hand on his shoulder. 

In a move that Tony will blame on his exhaustion later - on a moment of unforgivable vulnerability - he turns and buries his face into James’ shoulder. Beneath him James freezes. They have touched before, yes, but this is the closest they have ever been. He should move away, he knows - obviously he is making James uncomfortable - but he can’t. All of his will to move has been drained out of him. 

Before he can mustard it back though, James brings his arms up and holds him close. 

Tony melts, letting him hold him up. Fair? No, but he can’t bring himself to care. He needs this, just for a little while. Just for a few more moments, then he can go back to being strong again. James' arms around him feels even safer than the embrace of the forest itself. 

But then his mother falls ill. It had been something Tony had been dreading, had been doing his best not to think about. Not his mother or James. Anyone but his mother or James. Does this make him a bad person? Probably. Does it stop him from praying? Not at all. 

It feels as if his legs are about to give out from under him when he comes home to find her in bed, pale and flushed with sweat. 

“Mom,” he breathes, all of his emotion in one word. 

She offers him a weak smile. “Hello my dear. Do not come too close.” He takes a step closer anyways because warning be damned, this is his _mother_. 

But before he can go any farther, Howard tears into the room. “Get away from here you little beast!” he snarls. His breath reeks and there is a sheen to his eyes. No question as to what he has been doing. “It is your fault she is sick!” 

“What are you talking about, you old drunk?” His mask is up, emotions hidden. No need to give the old bastard the satisfaction. 

“Your fault!” he continues as if he didn’t even hear Tony, “Going to the forest. Always running away from a _real_ day's work. I always knew you were an unnatural thing, now this proves it.” he bares his teeth like the beast he is accusing Tony of being. 

It takes everything in Tony not to retreat. “I do more work than _you_. All you do is sit around and drink. I am the one who keeps meat on the table.” Part of him feels terrible for doing this in front of his mother, but there are some things that he cannot let stand. This is one of them. 

“The work of the devil you mean.” He takes a step forward and Tony can’t help it, he takes a step back. Coward. But there is a mad gleam in Howard’s eyes that scare him more than he has ever been of the man. “You are the one who brought this upon us! You and your devil work! You put a curse on us! Used the evil magic of the forest to kill us all!” 

“Oh _now_ you believe in magic? I thought it was useless nonsense for children and women?” 

With almost unnatural speed Howard lunges forward and strikes Tony across the mouth. They both ignore the weak ‘Howard!’ in the background. “Be gone you little brat! Go and take your dark magic with you. Lift this plague before I tan your hide!” 

Blood floods Tony’s mouth. He spits it out at Howard. But then Howard takes another step, eyes no less crazed and Tony does the only sensible thing. He runs. He turns and runs as if the very devil Howard is accusing him of working with was after him. That night he finds somewhere else, hidden and safe, to sleep. In the morning he wakes up to a new kind of nightmare. 

Obviously someone else heard Howard’s shouting last night - not that that is a surprise. Howard is always at his loudest when he is screaming at Tony. But also - obviously someone took his words to heart because rumours are abound. It doesn’t take him long to hear the whispers. It takes even less time to hear the accusations. They believe _he_ was the cause of this now. Wow, thanks _ever_ so much Howard. Wisely he slips away before anyone can get any ideas. 

He doesn’t tell any of this to James when they meet up. He can’t. The words get stuck in his throat when he tries. Just the thought is enough to make him shake. What ifs dance through his head. Hopefully sense has set in by time he returns. People will remember what kind of man Howard is. They will remember that he has been screaming like things at Tony for years. None of it has ever been true before. They never listened before, happy to blissfully ignore it. 

If not - well. He knows what fear and suspicion can drive people to do. His village is well and truly desperate. The alternative does not bear thinking about. 

James must sense this though, because he sticks closer than usual. He doesn’t say anything, but any time Tony looks he is right there. 

When it is time to return Tony’s stomach is in his throat. What will he find? Briefly he considers just not going back, but he knows he can't do that. Not with his mother sick like she is. She deserves comfort in her last days. Tony can’t abandon her now. 

The answer to his question is answered readily when he arrives - a crowd - or more like a mob - is waiting for him. The village priest is at its head. “Witch! Witch!” they cry even before the man can say anything. 

Tony takes one look at the rope and the rocks - and runs. For the second time he runs for his life. But instead of running away, he runs farther in. He runs straight to his house and his mother within. 

“My son,” she sighs when she sees him, “go.” 

He shakes his head, falling to his knees beside her. “I don’t want to leave you.” Even the imminent threat of death is not enough to make him flee now. He does not want to die, but this is _his mother_. 

“I love you,” she says, “I always will. Go. Live for me. Be free my dear, dear child. _Live_ for me.” As if that exhausted her completely she closes her eyes with a weak breath. 

“I love you too Mama,” he chokes out and obeys. This is his mother’s last wish. He will not dishonor her by disregarding it. Quickly he gathers everything he needs and flees away from the mob. Circling around he goes back into the forest unseen. 

Tears cloud his sight as he runs. He doesn’t know where he is going and he doesn’t care. His mother, his mama. He will never see her again. She will be in a better place though. A place without Howard. A place without burdens and troubles and worries. He hopes that she is happy there. It’s called paradise for a reason. 

He knows that he will not last long now. His lungs burn both from the flight and the sobs building in his chest. A root under foot trips him and he goes down with a crash. Blood drips from palms and knees ache, but he barely feels them. Laying on the ground he cries. Sobs with everything in him. Tears flood his eyes and ugly sobs tear from his chest. Why? Why? _Why_? 

“Tony?” 

Tony looks up, barely able to see James - and not just from the tears. He didn’t realize until now how dark it was getting. His first night in the forest. At least James is here now. James will show him how to stay safe. James will protect him. 

“What are you doing here?” 

There is an emotion in his voice that Tony has never heard before - fear. “My mother -” but that is all he can manage before another sob chokes him. 

James helps him up, his grip too tight and eyes too wide. “You need to leave. _Now_.” 

“My village - they’ll kill me.” He manages more this time, knowing he needs James to understand. Leave? His words are like another stab to the heart. Does James no longer want him either? Why? What did he do wrong? 

“It’s not safe here,” James continues as if he didn’t hear Tony at all. “You need to get out of the forest before it is too late.” 

“I can’t.” Tony shakes his head. And not because he has nowhere else to go either. Navigate the forest?At night? With no moon to light his way? With no sense of where he is? Impossible. 

“You must - Tony -” 

Around them the mist begins to rise. It is then that he remembers the tales. The warnings. Goosebumps break out along his arms. He tries to tell himself not to be silly, but it doesn’t work. The thoughts are already in his head. Nor does the mist help, growing heavier by the moment. It is getting hard to even see James, as close as he is. 

The noise of the forest has dropped away too. There are no more night time sounds. No more rustling of small animals, no hooting of owls, no bats flying above head, nothing. It is as if they had all fled. As if they sense something that Tony has not yet and are gone to hide, safe. It only adds to the spookiness. 

His heart begins to pound, grief temporarily forgotten. “James...” 

“Tony -” he chokes as if he is holding back something. His eyes are wide and desperate. “Run!” He blinks and when he opens them again, they are blood red. “ _Run_!”

Then it is no longer James looking at him. It is James’ body, yes, but its teeth are too sharp, its nails long like a beast’s, iuts ears grow pointed. There is no humanity in its eyes as it snarls at Tony. 

And Tony - Tony finally obeys. He takes off running as if his life depends on it - which it most certainly does. A distant part of him, the only part left able to think, considers how ridiculous this is. How many times is he going to have to run for his life before all of this is over? Although if he isn’t fast enough then he isn’t going to have to worry about it. The forest will have done the villager’s job for them. 

The rest of him is beyond thought, pure terror flooding his veins. 

Behind him he can hear the not-James give chase. Its breath is hard and heavy and far too close for comfort. Through bushes and trees and streams he runs, but nothing seems to work. It is always right behind him, never far, never giving up. It is as if nothing can stop it. 

Maybe the worst part of it is that besides its breathing, it doesn’t make a sound. Tony crashes and stumbles through the forest, noisy enough to wake the dead. The not-James makes not a sound. It glides silently through everything, breaking no branches, splashing in no water. It is almost as if it is not there at all. As if Tony imagined it. That threatening breath is his only reminder that he didn’t. That he needs to keep going. 

If he thought that his chest was burning before, that is nothing compared to now. His breath comes out in deep, shuddering gasps. It never feels like enough. It burns no matter how much he desperately takes air in. His limbs shake with fatigue. Terror may be driving him, but he knows that he cannot keep this up forever. This day - this night - has been too much. Eventually he will have to stop. 

That point comes sooner than he’d like when his legs quite literally give out from under him. There is no strength left in them to support him. He hits the ground with a painful thud and braces himself. This is it. Numbly he stares up at his doom. 

Not-James stalks forward like a predator who has finally cornered its prey. His teeth are pulled back in a growl. That is when Tony finally puts it all together and understands. The Winter Ghost. _This_ is the Winter Ghost. And the Winter Ghost is James. No wonder he never liked talking about himself. 

“James,” he breathes. 

The growling grows louder at that. A warning. 

With the last of his strength, Tony stands up, leaning against a tree for support. “James. It’s me,” he tries again. 

Another warning growl. The Winter Ghost stalks closer. 

Tony wants to look away, but he can’t. He is a rabbit, caught in a wolf’s hungry gaze. Instead he meets its gaze, heart beating out of his chest. “James,” he repeats, holding out his hand. Maybe it is stupid, but it is the only thing he can think of. His tongue is too useless, his thoughts too fogged to speak any clever words. All he has is ‘James’ and this. 

What harm can it do? If this is how it ends, at least he tried. At least it is by some version of James and not his village. Hopefully James will not blame himself too much when he is in control again. 

His hand shakes and not just from fear. Exhaustion pulls at every part of his body. He had no idea it was possible to feel this tired and this alive at the same time. 

There is no sign that this will work at all, either. 

Tony’s arm drops, not able to support itself anymore. 

But before. It drops all the way, the Winter Ghost darts forward to grab it. It holds his hand in long, sharp, black claws. 

Tony barely has the energy to flinch. The best he can do is a weak smile. 

Instead of taking a bite out of it, it lifts it to his nose and sniffs. It sniffs long and deep, concentrating on - something. There is something in his scent that is obviously stopping it from finishing the chase. 

“Mine?” Its - his? - voice sounds more like a wolf, if a wolf had the ability to talk. 

Tony is beyond himself now, barely holding on. “Yours,” he slurs in agreement because why the hell not? These are his last moments anyways. 

Besides, if anyone in the world has claim on him now it would be James, no matter what form he is in. 

“Mine,” he - it? - says in satisfaction. 

Tony’s last thought is that he hopes James will remember him fondly, without too much regret. 

And then he wakes up. 

That is such a surprise he cannot believe it at first. Could last night - yesterday - been a nightmare? But no, he knows it wasn’t. His body aches too much for it to have been a dream. He opens his eyes to find James sitting beside him warily. The forest surrounds them as the sun shines down. 

Oh. 

“Hello,” he croaks, voice hoarse. 

Wordlessly James hands him a water skin to drink from. 

Tony does so greedily, only stopping when he feels ready to burst. Oh that is better. There is still a lingering weakness to his limbs, but nothing a meal won’t fix. “Thanks.” 

James stays silent. This isn’t his normal silent either, but almost as if he is waiting. 

“Are you okay?” It can’t be easy, turning into - _that_ \- each night. Or so Tony assumes anyways. 

“Am _I_ okay?” James repeats as if he can’t believe it. “Are you?” 

Tony shrugs, deliberately not thinking about what sent him into the forest to begin with. “Been better,” he shrugs, “but nothing I can’t handle.” That is a lie. 

James flinches as if Tony had just hit him. 

“Hey,” he goes to lay a hand on his arm, but James won’t let him. 

“I understand that you will want to go. I don’t know how you survived last night, but it is best to leave now before night falls again. I can show you the way.” He goes to stand. 

“Bullshit,” Tony snaps and pulls him back down. His arm is warm and solid under his fingers. It occurs to him that James has always been solid to him, if a little cool. Nothing noticeable, nothing that would draw his attention, but that has changed now. 

James flinches again, but otherwise stays still. “Tony.” 

“No,” he doesn’t let him go. “ _No_ . Listen - was last night the most terrifying night of my life? Yes, _but_ ,” he continues, ignoring James’ reaction, “that doesn’t mean I am going to leave you. You are all I have left now. The fever -” he chokes and finds that it is still too fresh to say, “Plus, you know,” he shrugs, not wanting to linger, “he claimed me too so I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine.” 

“You would let yourself be claimed by a monster?” James’ tone is bleak and self deprecating. 

“You are not a monster,” Tony denies, “I am sorry that I ever said you were,” half remembering a long ago conversation, “but you’re not.” 

“You have no idea the things I have done. The blood on my hands.” He scowls in an imitation of last night. It is not as half as frightening. 

“True,” Tony agrees, because it is. He doesn’t. “But I know _you._ ” Three years of friendship will do that to a person. “Did you ever _want_ to do the things you are so ashamed of? Or were you given no choice?”

“A curse,” James admits, still oh so ashamed, “I have been cursed for so long. Even death did not stop it. I will be a monster for all eternity.” There is the blackest of despair in his voice. 

“I’m not leaving you,” Tony declares, “I don’t care what you’ve done. I don’t care what this curse makes you. I’m _not_ leaving.” Stubbornness has always been one of Tony’s better traits. Or at least he likes to think so. 

“Tony,” James trails off, hopeless. 

“You are all I have now,” he repeats, “please don’t take that from me.” He’s not above begging right now. Not after everything. Not to keep this. He isn’t exaggerating after all. 

And James - James nods, still doubtful, still afraid and doubting, but it is enough. More than enough, for a start. 

Everyone knows the legend of the Winter Ghost. How he lurks in the forest, always hungry, always searching for prey. Everyone knows of his companion, the one who is always by his side. The one who stills his hunger, who calms his anger and keeps the innocent safe. The loyal one, always there to guard and to help. 

One is never seen without the other. 

In the dark they stalk the land, keeping it safe. In the day, they linger, the shadow in the corner of your eye. The half heard voices on the wind. Few have seen them, but if you are lucky and quiet and still enough, you will. 

Two teen boys, one laughing, the other staring adoringly at the first. They run and play in the forest that is their resting grounds. The same forest the boy and the seemingly beast haunt at night. 

Together they linger - entwined forever and always - even as time moves on without them. 


End file.
